


First as the Shadows of Fluttering Leaves

by OneHandedBooks



Series: We Are But Dust and Shadows [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actual Plot!, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blindfolds, Bottom Hannibal, Edging, M/M, Obsession, Power Play, Season/Series 03, Top Will, cliched use of canon, escape from Florence, mentions of cannibalism, we'll always have Venice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5308418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHandedBooks/pseuds/OneHandedBooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Will saw the future rippling outwards from that unguarded smile, year upon year, and he felt an involuntary smile touch his own lips. He trembled to see how easy it would be to make this vicious man happy with small tokens of beauty and affection and how much he would want to make Hannibal happy that way.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>AU: What if Will joined Hannibal willingly after the Uffizi Gallery and they shared a few tense weeks in the world before Mason's men finally ran them down? </p><p>I thought I was done with this story, but apparently not. Now with a minor amount of actual plot! Explicit in later chapters.</p><p>Prequel to What Do The Dead Know?/Sequel to Kisses Tie Our Mouths, but you can jump in anywhere. Plot is incidental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Title from A Myth of Devotion, Louise Glück

Will stood at the high window of Sogliato's flat. His image hung ghost-like in the glass, showing him his bare feet and his dark hair standing out in unruly spikes. The flat was overwarm and he wore only his boxers and a white button down shirt that Hannibal had given him the previous day. In deference to the heat, he’d let the shirt hang open from his shoulders. It was too small for him anyway and pulled across the back. Dead man’s clothes, he’d thought when he put it on.

Will looked out past his image onto the nearly empty streets. From time to time, he saw groups of people spill out onto the cobblestones as nearby bars closed for the night, but mostly it was all quiet below. He did not turn around when he heard Hannibal approaching.

Will watched as Hannibal’s image gradually eclipsed his in the dining room window. He had been cooking god knows what catastrophic delicacy in Sogliato’s unexpectedly mediocre kitchen. As Hannibal crossed the room, Will could see him sucking some dark liquid from his thumb. He was shirtless, a crumpled apron hanging over the crisp trousers slung low on his hips.

“Hungry?” Hannibal asked with an inviting little smile. “I’ve made something I think you’ll like. _Sanguinaccio dolce_.”

Blood and chocolate, Will thought with an utter lack of surprise. "We have to go," he said flatly.

"Yes," Hannibal agreed, coming close enough for Will to feel his breath on his neck. "This is no place to go to ground. We don't have enough food left to stay comfortably much longer and the Questura is still investigating Sogliato's disappearance." Hannibal hesitated then laid a warm, rough hand on Will’s shoulder.

Will grunted in acknowledgment but clarified, "It's not that. There's something wrong here."

Hannibal’s brow wrinkled slightly. "What did you see Will?"

"I don't know. This morning and again tonight, I’ve seen the same man. Maybe the same man. Standing outside the building across the street, looking up at this window. A little too long. Maybe he lives here. I don’t know. I don’t think so. There’s something about him. It’s like a pixelated image that won't come together.” He paused. “Something's not right,” he said again.

“What did this man look like, Will?” Hannibal asked, cross-referencing his memories from the last few days with what Will was saying. “FBI? Questura?”

Will shook his head, not in negation but dismissing the question as irrelevant. "We need to go," he repeated.

"Now?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes. If you’re going…” Will hesitated then started over. “If we’re going, then we need to go. Tonight if we can."

Hannibal considered this, sifting expertly and rapidly through multiple timelines for the best option. “It’s not ideal, but it’s certainly possible.”

“You have a plan?” Will asked. “Or you _had_ a plan of some kind? More than one?”

“I had many. You’ve already thwarted most of them.” Hannibal smiled, seemingly unconcerned by Will’s nervous tension.“You and Jack.”

Will didn’t smile back. He was inside himself, shuffling through everything he’d seen and heard over the last few days, looking for connections, for the missing piece that would provide the evidence for his intuition. Hannibal watched him with great interest.

“Mason is looking for you too,” Will said, glancing at Hannibal over his shoulder. The FBI and the Questura would be bound by the niceties of the law. If he’d seen one of their men staking out the flat earlier, there was a good chance they could get away clean especially if they left unexpectedly in these pre-dawn hours. If it was one of Mason’s men, it might already be too late.

“Yes, I know.” Hannibal said with calm amusement. “There is a sizeable bounty. A better warning of danger than a barking dog.”

“What was your plan for that?”

“The plan for _that_ was to lead his men a merry chase and then kill them, of course. I considered sending pieces to Mason parcel post,” Hannibal said matter-of-factly. “In time. Although it seems that time is now upon us.”

Will nodded, somewhat irritated by Hannibal’s offhandedly gruesome comment and his clear lack of concern. “And your plan now?”

Hannibal shrugged. “Now we catch a train to Venice. I have a townhouse there on one of the canals. There’s access to the sea and the long view from the roof deck makes it hard to approach unseen.”

Of course you have a Venetian fortress, Will thought. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me we’d be riding to Venice on unicorns, each wearing a peacock as a hat.

“I had hoped to show you Italy, Will, “Hannibal continued, undaunted by Will’s inscrutable expression. “You and Abigail.” He paused when Will flinched then continued. “Perhaps I still can, to a degree. I would like to see one more _acqua alta_. With you. Before we disappear.”

“Venice is a major city,” Will said, tilting his head to the side. “Lots of people. Lots of cameras.”

Hannibal looked at Will’s skeptical reflection. “Venice is also a city of secrets and I know them well,” he said persuasively. “It has played hostess to many fugitives. We can blend into the crowd, far easier than into some small isolated village, wait until the world turns its attention to some fresh horror and forgets us. Then we can move on safely.”

“Move on to where?”

Hannibal shrugged again. “We will plan that together.”

Will stared out the window, considering this. When he decided he didn’t have a better plan to offer, he nodded minutely in agreement. He felt Hannibal start to put his arm around him and then change his mind. He turned and walked out of the room. As Will cast his mind forward along the course of the proposed escape to Venice, he was vaguely aware of Hannibal banging around in the kitchen then the back bedroom.

When Hannibal returned, he was dressed in a navy blue blazer, slacks, and a soft, loose sweater. Much more subdued than the style Will was used to. Tourist camouflage, he thought.

Hannibal had two leather traveling bags slung over his shoulder. He was balancing a tray with a single serving of sanguiaccio dolce on it in one hand and holding a hanger in the other with a suit for Will. He put the bags and the dessert carefully on the table.

Will watched Hannibal’s ghost in the window as he lifted the fine black suit with a flourish for Will’s approval.

“Dead man’s clothes,” Will said without expression.

Hannibal paused, a tiny frown creasing his brow. He was having trouble reading this reaction. “If it upsets you…” he ventured uncertainly.

Will found that it did not. The whole of his mind was focused on his internal alert system and the precariousness of Hannibal’s plan. There was no space for sentimental concerns. “No,” he answered.

Hannibal laid the suit on the table with a weary sigh. “I had some things for you, Will. Just a few. That I picked up after the catacombs. In case… . But I suspect we cannot return to the Fells’ flat for them. Not if time is as short as you believe it to be. Nor can we return to wherever it was you were staying. When Chiyoh shot you, your suit and coat were ruined, so I burned them in the grate. Everything but those shorts you have on. This will have to do.”

Will started violently and whipped around. “You burned my clothes?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, unsurprised at Will’s vehemence. He’d suspected this was coming. He waited, following the track of Will’s thoughts across his face, watching the desperate concern rising in his eyes. “But I saved this,” Hannibal said finally, pulling a box from the top of one of the leather bags. “It seemed important.” In truth, it had seemed _a curious thing_ and worth saving for that reason alone. But it was abundantly clear now that it was something important.

Hannibal held out the small black cardboard cube that Will had been carrying in the inner pocket of his coat. The flat black ribbon holding it shut was crushed and the matte surface was marred with scratches. Will shook to see it whole, distracted from the nearly overwhelming urge to get on the road. Hannibal tilted his head slightly and waited for Will to speak.

“It’s a present,” Will said finally, looking up at him.

“For me?” Hannibal asked with the beginnings of a smile.

"Yes,” Will said.

Charming, almost childish delight lit Hannibal’s face, deepening the faint lines around his eyes, quirking the corners of his mouth. Will saw the future rippling outwards from that unguarded smile, year upon year, and he felt an involuntary smile touch his own lips. He trembled to see how easy it would be to make this vicious man happy with small tokens of beauty and affection and how much he would _want_ to make Hannibal happy that way. Then he felt sick and shook the invading vision off.

“I hadn’t made up my mind to give it to you,” he continued.

Hannibal held the box out to Will. “One of two presents you had in mind for me? The lady or the tiger?”

Will took the box from Hannibal’s outstretched hand and turned it over and over. “Something like that.”

“Somewhat less fatal than your last gift I trust?” Hannibal asked with a quick cold smirk.

Will considered this for a moment then set the box back inside the bag. “There’s no time now. It’s a distraction. If we get away…”

“ _When_ ,” Hannibal insisted.

Will shook his head. “Fine. _When_ we get away then, I’ll give it to you.”

Hannibal’s smile deepened and he stepped forward to caress Will’s rough stubbled cheek. Will's eyes fluttered shut briefly.

“I’ll go get dressed,” Will said.

Hannibal picked up one of the two little silver spoons lying on the tray alongside the sanguinaccio dolce. The dessert had been piled high in the hollow half shell of a large orange. The glittering sugared rim was carefully crowned with a ring of ruby pomegranate seeds. “Will you eat with me first?”

Will held Hannibal’s reddish gaze then picked up the other spoon and dragged it through the dark top of the chocolate pudding. He closed his eyes and savored the sweet earthy taste. It was good. Like everything he’d ever eaten at Hannibal’s table, it was good.

Hannibal watched Will intently then took a bite himself.

“It has to be fresh for this?” Will asked, but it wasn’t really a question. Behind his eyes he saw bright crimson blood spilling into a steel pan, the melting bitter chocolate, sparkling sugar, swirling white cream.

“It’s better that way. Yes,” Hannibal answered.

Will pursed his lips. He knew there’d been no one else in the flat except the two of them for days and he’d noticed no new wounds on his own body. Unless Hannibal had gone out while Will was sedated and done his butchery elsewhere, which seemed an unlikely risk even for him, then it was Hannibal’s blood in the dish.

Will looked at Hannibal and took another spoonful deliberately. “It’s yours,” he concluded.

Hannibal avidly watched Will lick the back of the spoon. “Yes,” he confirmed.

“You opened one of the scars that I… that I _commissioned_ for you,” Will said with a sarcastically expansive gesture. “And you used my Harpy to do it.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows slightly in astonishment and he made an almost imperceptible move as if to cover his left forearm with his right hand.

Will smirked at him. “I suppose it has a certain rough symmetry.”

“Can you see me so clearly?” Hannibal asked, with uneasy longing.

Will gave him a tight smile. “More and more.”

Hannibal’s spoon clicked against Will’s as they dipped back into the Persephone cup at the same time. Between them, they finished the rich dish in minutes.

Hannibal kissed a bit of chocolate from the corner of Will’s mouth. “Get dressed and we’ll go,” he said softly.


	2. Chapter 2

Around two in the morning, Will and Hannibal were standing inside the service entrance to Sogliato’s building watching the bar next door. When a group of rowdy boys on a stag do stumbled out after last call, Will and Hannibal followed, blending into the back of their party. Despite the late hour, they walked most of the way to the Firenze Campo Marte station in similar company.

Whether it was the late hour, or their total focus on blending into the little crowds they encountered, or something else entirely, both Will and Hannibal overlooked the familiar man standing in a dark vestibule across from the station. And neither of them was close enough to hear him say “Firenze Campo Marte” into his cell phone before he turned and walked quickly away down an empty side street.

Just before they reached the station, Hannibal opined that they would draw less attention if they appeared to be traveling separately. Will stopped at the small station café for a take-away coffee he did not want in order to give Hannibal at head start. Will was both glad and disappointed that they would not be sharing a cabin for the short trip.

Hannibal bought a first class ticket for a single berth on the 3am InterCity night train to Venice from a disinterested clerk. Will followed behind a group of tourists leaving town for the weekend. The train was largely empty, a handful of college kids and some countryside commuters. As the only two single travelers, Will and Hannibal were given small adjoining compartments in an otherwise deserted car.

Will opened the narrow door to his tiny berth and set the leather overnight bag Hannibal had given him down on the sink. He folded the bunk down from the wood paneled wall.  It was only a few hours to Venice, but Will thought he might sleep for a while anyway. He felt worn thin and exhausted despite several days in bed. He pulled the plastic wrapped comforter and pillow down from the overhead rack and set them out on the low bunk.

Will took off his suit jacket, wincing as he pulled it off his right shoulder, and hung it in the tiny closet. He sat on the bed to unlace his shoes and put them on the closet floor along with his socks. He could hear Hannibal rattling around on the other side of the adjoining doors and he thought about knocking, but didn’t.

Instead, he stood and opened the leather bag. At the top was the square black box he’d been carrying with him since he left Baltimore. He took it out and set it on the bed, looked at it for a moment, then turned his back.

Under the box, Will found a cheap travel toothbrush and toothpaste combo. He put it on the edge of the tiny sink. Beneath was a small shaving kit and below that an assortment of clothes including a set of improbable plaid flannel pajamas. Will smiled involuntarily, shaking his head at them, then pushed them aside. At the very bottom of the bag was a recent newspaper wrapped around small, thick walled, crystal tumbler.

Will was holding the glass in his hand and looking at it curiously when Hannibal knocked on the door separating their compartments.  He startled and nearly dropped the tumbler. Then he unlocked the pocket door and slid it sideways into the wall.

Hannibal was standing on the other side, wearing his plush sweater over cotton sleep pants. He cocked his hip and leaned against the doorway with a deliberately rakish grin. The lamp in his compartment was turned to its lowest setting and shadows flooded around his body. He held out a small bottle of amber liquid. “Whisky?” he asked.

Will chuckled and rubbed his hand over his face wearily. “Is that what this tumbler is for?”

“It would be a shame to drink it out of the plastic cups they usually have in these rooms,” Hannibal said as though it should be obvious. He gestured for Will to join him.

You _would_ go on the run with high end whisky glasses, Will thought, crossing the narrow threshold into Hannibal’s room. There seemed to be no end to Hannibal’s capacity to equip himself with little luxuries no matter the circumstances.

Will sat next to Hannibal on the edge of his bunk. He stretched his good arm over his head and stifled a yawn with the back of his other hand.

“Sorry,” Will said. “I feel like I can’t get enough sleep.” He could feel the warmth of Hannibal’s thigh inches from his own. Without thinking, he slid a little closer until their legs were touching lightly from hip to knee.

Hannibal poured two fingers of whisky into Will’s glass and then into his own. He smiled and clinked his glass against Will’s.

“ _Pei do dna_ ,” Hannibal said and threw his whisky back in one go.

Will blinked in surprise then did the same. The dry smoky burn of the whisky flushed his cheeks and pulled some of the tension from his neck. “This is good,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Will. I thought you might like it.”

“Was that Russian?” he asked.

“Yes. It means ‘to the bottom.’ It has the sense of 'to the end' or 'until it is finished.' You have a good ear for languages.”

“It might come in handy,” Will said, looking into the bottom of his glass.

“Yes it might,” Hannibal agreed amicably. “Another?”

“Sure. This has to be my last one though,” Will said. “I’m almost asleep as it is.”

Hannibal poured each of them another measure. “Then we’ll say ‘ _Na pososhok_ ’ and drink this one slowly.”

“Na pasoshook,” Will said and sipped his whisky.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in affection. “Close.”

“What does it mean?”

“For the road,” Hannibal said. “For _our_ road.”

Will nodded in acceptance then stood up. “I have something for you too,” he said.

“Your plan B?” Hannibal asked, taking Will’s glass and setting it aside. “Should I be worried?”

Will smiled faintly and went back into his berth for the square black box. When he returned he sat on the bed at an angle to Hannibal so their knees were touching.

“Here,” he said, offering Hannibal the battered box with a nervous, sidelong glance.

Hannibal handed Will his drink back then took the box happily in both hands. He savored the fact that Will had brought him something that seemed to be so terribly important.

Will stared into his glass, then out the darkened window, watching the lights of the countryside flash by.

“Will?” Hannibal asked with concern, hands hovering over the black ribbon.

“Yeah,” Will said, taking another sip of his whisky. “You can open it.”

Hannibal looked at Will for a moment longer then pulled the wide ribbon off and draped it over the bedside shelf next to the small whisky bottle. Hannibal knew the box was unlikely to contain anything dangerous, but Will had turned out to be something of an aficionado of nasty surprises, so he lifted the lid gingerly. The contents were so unexpected that they didn’t immediately register beyond a general perception of silk and color.

Hannibal blinked rapidly as understanding hit him. His hands shook slightly as he lifted one of his gilded demitasse teacups out of a nest of darkly patterned deep crimson silk. He held the cup to the light, nearly expressionless in his astonishment, then set it in his lap gently. He unfolded the silk packing to reveal a familiar pocket handkerchief.

Hannibal sat back against the wall behind the bunk and looked at Will, speechless.

“I got them from your house after they let me out of the hospital.” Will explained, fidgeting with his glass. “Most of your things were gone. Almost everything, actually. But the tea service was still there and some of the clothes too.”

Hannibal shivered at the unexpectedly intimate thought of Will walking through his home unfettered and alone. Running his hands over the remnants of Hannibal’s life. Searching for something meaningful to take with him.

“Trophies?” Hannibal asked in a faint voice.

“Souvenirs.” Will said. He looked from the pocket square to the cup and back. The cup is obvious, he thought. He nodded towards the pocket square. “You wore that one a lot. You wore it at our last supper.”

You remembered that, Hannibal wondered.

“I remember everything about you, Hannibal,” Will said, answering before Hannibal could ask. “Even when I don't want to.”

Will looked at the glass in his hands, rolling it between his palms, then back at Hannibal, still leaning heavily against the back wall of the bunk. He lifted his glass slightly with an evocative little shrug. “I guess you should kiss me now,” he said.

Hannibal quirked an eyebrow. “I could never really predict you,” he whispered. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Will’s.

Will yielded to him immediately, lips parting, tongue sliding into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal could taste the oak and smoke of good whisky. Hannibal fisted his hands in Will’s shirt and pulled him closer. Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal and leaned into him. Hannibal unbuttoned Will’s white shirt until it was hanging open and then slid his hands across Will’s chest, thumbs dragging over his nipples until they peaked and Will was sighing.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered as he wrapped his arms around Will’s back and held him.

Will slipped his hands under Hannibal’s lush sweater, caressing his soft skin, running his fingers over slats of Hannibal’s ribs, the defined muscles of his back. “Off?” he asked against Hannibal’s mouth, pulling on the hem of the sweater.

Hannibal slid back and disentangled himself from Will’s arms gently. He started to yank his sweater off over his head, but stopped when Will started yawning. “Never mind,” Hannibal said with a smile, pulling the sweater back down and laying a hand on Will’s thigh. “You should sleep.”

Will leaned in and wrapped his arms around Hannibal and just held him for a moment. He kissed his neck softly and then curled into his big, warm body, leaning his head against Hannibal’s shoulder comfortably.

Hannibal ran his fingers through Will’s thick curls over and over. He could feel him slipping towards sleep. “Will?” Hannibal said. “Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?”

“I’ll go back to my room,” Will said sleepily. “We can’t both fit in this bed.”

Hannibal coaxed Will back into the bed anyway.  “Lie back. I’ll bring your mattress in here and set it on the floor.” He paused uncertainly. “Unless you’d rather sleep alone.”

“No,” Will said, slurred Southern accent creeping back into his voice in his exhaustion. “I’d rather be with you.”

Hannibal went into Will’s compartment and removed the narrow mattress from the steel bunk frame. He wrestled it into his berth and set it on the floor beside his own bed. Then he went back to grab the pillow and a bottle of water from the tiny refrigerator.

By the time Hannibal returned, Will had stripped down to his boxers and was nestled comfortably in Hannibal's bed. His shirt was hanging from the corner of the tiny bedside shelf and he’d made a half-hearted effort at folding his trousers before setting them relatively neatly on the floor.

Hannibal set up the mattress from Will’s cabin as well as he could. Then he pulled his sweater off and set it aside along with the cotton sleep pants. Will observed him through half closed eyes, watching him strip off with sleepy interest. Hannibal smiled to feel Will’s eyes on him. He stretched out on the narrow mattress on the floor, preening a little under Will’s gaze, then pulled the thin blanket slowly up over his bare body.

When Hannibal was settled, Will turned fully onto his side and moved closer to the edge of the bunk. He stretched his arm off the edge and held his hand out. Unexpectedly touched, Hannibal took Will’s hand in his own.

“See you in Venice,” Will mumbled.

“See you in Venice, Will.” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal held Will’s hand until his fingers went slack and then he closed his eyes and slipped into a brief and fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Will woke in the dark from a dream of teeth. Hannibal was sleeping beside him, sprawled out on his stomach, radiating heat like a banked fire. The room was faintly lit by a dimmed light in the hallway. The glow from the lamp limned the lines of Hannibal’s bare body and turned the hair on his arms to gold.

For a moment, Will couldn’t remember where he was or when. As he watched Hannibal’s back rise and fall with deep sleeping breaths, reality slowly returned to him. They were in Venice. In Hannibal’s townhouse in the Sestriere Santa Croce. There was a boat mooring outside the water door, Hannibal had told him, with easy access from the canal to the ocean. A roof terrace that gave a clear view of every approach to the house. A temporary fortress.

Will remembered taking separate cabs to the townhouse from the train station earlier that morning. Maintaining the fiction of traveling separately. Will’s had come directly, but Hannibal’s car dropped him off several blocks away. Will unlocked the front door with Hannibal’s key and waited. He was able to circle the entire shrouded lower floor before he saw Hannibal walking up the early morning street, blazer slung casually over his shoulder.

The rest of the day had been a tired blur- pulling sheets off of furniture, shopping in the local mercato, unpacking their meager belongings. They had bathed separately in the capacious, marble bathroom. Will had fallen in love with the big shower, resting his forehead against the cool tile and letting the pounding spray soothe the tension in his back until the hot water ran out.

Hannibal had made them a simple, early dinner of roasted tomatoes and fresh pasta with Will serving as a distinctly amateur sous chef. After dinner, they’d sat companionably together in the frescoed library, drinking small glasses of sweet wine and reading. Will had felt almost dizzy with the sudden domestic tranquility.

Hannibal had had Herodotus’s Histories open on his lap. Will had eschewed the weightier books in Hannibal’s library in favor of a paperback copy of Strangers on a Train that he’d pulled from Hannibal’s overnight bag and which he was _almost_ _certain_ Hannibal had bought at the Firenze’s one open stationer before they left for Venice. Will cracked the book’s new spine conspicuously and read it with the cover held in Hannibal’s direction until he got the little smile of acknowledgment he’d been waiting for.

When Hannibal had seen Will nodding off, he’d taken the half empty glass of wine away before it could spill, closed the book, and ushered him to bed although the sun was barely down.

Having oriented himself in time, Will looked around the shadowed room and then back at Hannibal. He had a very faint recollection of the mattress dipping under his weight at some point in the night and of soft lips pressing a kiss to his temple. There were at least four bedrooms in the townhouse and they had not really discussed sleeping arrangements, but Will was not surprised to see him here.

Will rolled onto his side and propped his head on his palm. He reached for Hannibal with his free hand, but before he could make contact, Hannibal was suddenly and completely awake.

“Is everything all right, Will?” Hannibal asked.

“Shhh,” Will hushed him, stroking his hand down the long length of Hannibal’s unmarked back.

Hannibal shifted his weight as if to turn over and look at him, but Will planted his palm firmly between Hannibal’s shoulder blades and held him down. “Be still,” he said.

“Will?”

Will leaned forward and kissed Hannibal’s shoulder in reassurance. “Be still and let me see you.”

Hannibal pillowed his head on his arms and adjusted his weight to get more comfortable, happy as always to encourage Will’s exploration. When he started to straighten his legs, Will sat up and pressed his hand hard against Hannibal’s back again.

“No,” Will said firmly. “Leave your legs spread like that.”

Hannibal smiled against his arm. “As you say, Will.”

Will threaded one hand into Hannibal’s silvered hair and ran his fingers through it, pulling slightly, massaging the base of his skull. He followed the curve of Hannibal’s neck, digging his fingers expertly into the stiff muscles. He took one of his earlobes gently between his fingers, caressing lightly, not quite tickling, until Hannibal shivered and sighed.

Will moved lower and straddled Hannibal’s hips. He placed both hands flat on Hannibal’s strong shoulders and swept them down over his soft skin, glowing golden in the low light. With long strokes, Will caressed the defined muscles in Hannibal’s broad back, his lean sides, the slightly soft hips, the long muscles in his thighs. Petting him, like a big cat.

Hannibal moaned softly and arched into Will’s hands. He could feel the deep tingling as his cock filled, but there was no urgency. He was content to lay on his belly at Will’s insistence and let Will touch him as he pleased.

Will leaned his full weight into his hands, massaging each thick muscle in Hannibal’s back until it relaxed. He moved further down the bed, pressing his fingertips into the firm flesh of Hannibal’s thighs, working the tension out of Hannibal’s body bit by bit until he was boneless. Will noted every sigh, and hum, and moan of delight he coaxed from Hannibal’s lips, thinking I want to learn you. I want to learn every part of you.

Will slid back up the bed and straddled Hannibal’s hips again, leaning forward to cover Hannibal’s body with the full length of his own. Hannibal shivered to feel Will’s weight against him, over him. The sudden hot shock of silky skin on skin, interrupted only by the rough cotton of Will’s shorts. Hannibal could feel the steel press of Will’s cock against him though the fabric.

Will nosed along Hannibal’s hairline, behind his ear, down along his neck, breathing him in. “You smell good, Hannibal,” he said. “Like…cinnamon and heartwood smoke.”

Hannibal turned his head side to side against his crossed arms, enjoying the feel of Will pressing him into the bed with his lean, strong, runner’s body. “You _feel_ good, Will.” He arched to push back against Will’s crotch. “You’d feel better without those cheap shorts. Why don’t you take them off?”

Will smiled against Hannibal’s neck then flicked his tongue behind his ear. He licked over Hannibal’s exposed earlobe then bit down lightly. “Why don’t you hush?” he whispered with a light, Louisiana lilt. Will kissed him once more then sat up.

Hannibal whined and squirmed at the loss of contact. “Don’t go, Will,” he said.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Will hushed him, smoothing his hands soothingly over Hannibal’s shoulders and down his back. “Just…let me have you like this.” He kissed the back of Hannibal’s shoulder. “Let me see you.” He bit into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, enjoying the control he had. “Let me taste you.”

Hannibal whimpered, but stayed relatively still as Will explored him, following the track his hands had taken from the nape of Hannibal’s neck to the small of his back, placing hot open mouthed kisses all along his body, marking his skin with little bites.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal moaned. “Please…”

Will hushed him again, whispering against his skin, brushing his soft lips back and forth over the small of his back. “Don’t beg. Not just yet.”

He sat back on his heels and spanned Hannibal’s hips with his broad, rough hands, working his thumbs into the resilient flesh, loosening the joints.

“Your hands,” Hannibal breathed dreamily.

Will waited for more, but Hannibal was quiet again, glorying in the feel of Will’s touch with unabashed hedonism.

“What about my hands?”  Will asked softly, bending to place a constellation of kisses across Hannibal’s back.

“Rougher than I remember. I can feel sailcloth and salt. Coarse rope and cold water.”

Will sighed, sliding backwards, dragging his hands down over Hannibal’s firm ass and across the tops of his thighs. He kneaded his fingers into the long muscles of his legs.

“When I was building my boat.” Will began contemplatively, stroking lightly up and down over Hannibal's thighs, his hips, his ass. “And sailing across the cold Atlantic. And watching hemp rope cut red lines across my palms as I hauled down the wet, heavy mainsail in rough weather. I thought of you. You and…her. Abigail. The murderous little cabal you’d tried to create. Our godforsaken...family. I sat on the bow and I planned how I would follow your backtrail. Track your prints from country to country to country. Unfold you like an origami box.”

Will leaned forward and brushed his lips over the nape of Hannibal’s neck, whispering as he did. “I planned to kill you when I found you. And I planned to run away with you when I found you. And I was of two minds right up until I pulled out the pocketknife instead of the pocketsquare.” He paused. “Or…maybe I was of two minds even then.”

“And now?” Hannibal asked with a small, unwelcome sense of fear.

“Now I want this,” Will said, running his hands confidently up and down over Hannibal’s relaxed body.

Hannibal sighed, writhing to meet Will’s touch.

“Were you going to kill me when you brought me back to Sogliato’s flat?” Will asked him.

“Yes,” Hannibal said.

“And?”

Hannibal hesitated.

“And?” Will insisted, digging his fingers into the muscles on either side of Hannibal’s spine. “What display would you have made of me?”

Hannibal sighed in resignation. “I had planned to host a last supper. You and I and Uncle Jack. You would have been the guest of honor.”

“And the main course?” Will said.

“Yes,” Hannibal responded. “And the main course.”

“Which was?”

“It is past, caro,” Hannibal said, burying his face in his arms. “Do you really need this?”

“I need it.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Very well. I would have let Bedelia know that I had you, finally. I would gloat. I would be obvious about where I was. She would tell Jack and Jack would show up in predictable fashion. Come to save his beloved bloodhound from me.” He paused. “I had an herb broth for you to drink beforehand. More for our sake than for yours.”

Will’s hands went still, a hazy memory fluttering.

“Yes,” Hannibal confirmed, following Will’s thoughts in the pause. “I did feed you the broth anyway, while you were convalescing.”

Ohmyfuckinggodseasoning, Will thought with a single sick inhale. “I don’t think it was very good,” he said faintly.

 “No, I don’t suppose it was.”

“Then?”

Hannibal paused again then offered him the worst part. “Then…we would have had brain in brown butter. You and Uncle Jack and I. Jack might have survived it. You wouldn’t have.”

Will contemplated this gruesome image in all its technicolor horror. He gathered it close to him. Let his understanding focus and crystallize. He let the image mark him with its terrible truth. And then he let it fall away.

“Would you have been sorry?” he asked, still stroking Hannibal’s body languidly, bending to taste the salt of his skin from time to time with the tip of his tongue.

“Killing you would have been like smashing a unique and priceless artifact in a fit of pique. A complete waste. I would have regretted it for the rest of my life,” Hannibal said plainly. He was silent for a moment. Then he asked in a voice harsh with hurt, “would _you_ have been sorry, Will? To end my life outside the Uffizi? To watch my blood spill out into the palazzo gutters?”

In his mind, Will saw a mangled parade of everyone he had loved and lost to this beast beneath him. Then he saw Hannibal bleeding out on the cobblestones and watched the light leaving his clear, clever eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I would have been sorry.” He laughed bitterly. “I might not have survived it.”

“Even knowing what I am?” Hannibal pushed.

Nature red in tooth and claw, Will thought with wrenching sorrow. “Yes. Even still.” Tears welled up in his eyes and he choked them back before they could fall.

“Thank you, Will.”

“For what,” he asked, his voice thick with grief.

“For seeing.”

Will was still for a long moment and Hannibal could feel his body shaking. Will sobbed once, dryly, and then reoriented himself. He focused on the man beneath him, head pillowed on his crossed arms, legs spread. Trusting. Unbelievably trusting.

Will bent and pressed a soft kiss to each knob of Hannibal’s fragile spine, rubbed his cheek against Hannibal’s soft skin, tasted the salt sweat pooling in the small of his back. He stroked his right hand firmly over Hannibal’s body from shoulders to hips, then down between his cheeks. Gentle, hesitant fingers ghosting over the most vulnerable part of him.

“Is this… is this ok for you?” Will asked uncertainly.

“Oh yes,” Hannibal breathed.

Will shifted back to give himself more room then pressed a little harder with two fingers, circling around Hannibal’s opening.

“Put a pillow under my hips,” Hannibal suggested, eager to help Will take him apart.

Will pulled Hannibal up slightly by his hipbones and shoved his own pillow under him, brushing the back of his hand deliberately over Hannibal’s hard cock as he did. Hannibal ground down against his hand, against the pillow, grateful for the friction.

“Comfortable?” Will asked solemnly.

“Very,” Hannibal said. “Thank you, Will.”

In response, Will trailed his fingers down over the firm flesh of Hannibal’s ass. He palmed Hannibal’s cheeks and parted them, stroked the tip of one finger over the delicate quivering muscle between them.

Hannibal squirmed under Will’s frank gaze, feeling a rare sense of helplessness.

Will spread Hannibal’s cheeks further, digging his fingers into the muscle, then he bent forward to lick a wide, wet stripe over Hannibal’s opening.

Hannibal gasped and bucked his hips involuntarily. “I thought you’d never,” he began in a shaky voice.

Will chuckled. It was a clear, genuine sound. So welcome after so much sorrow.  How he loved to surprise this arrogant man.

“I said no one had ever fucked me, and that’s true, but I never said I was a virgin. I’ve never been with…with another man, but I know some things that should translate.”

With that, Will ducked his head back between Hannibal’s spread thighs and swiped his tongue over his hole again and again, making him wet, licking him open.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal moaned.

Will grabbed him by the hard angles of his hips and pulled him back against his mouth, licking, and lapping, and pressing the tip of his tongue inside as far as he could. Hannibal could feel Will’s rough stubble chafing his delicate skin, the sharp point of Will’s chin denting his flesh.  He could feel the sound of Will moaning in enjoyment as he devoured him.

Hannibal spread his legs further. “More?” he asked.

Will sat back and pressed the tip of one finger against Hannibal’s wet flesh. Hannibal pushed back against him wantonly.

“You are utterly without shame,” Will said.

“Do you want me to be ashamed?” Hannibal asked coyly.

“No,” Will said, with an admiring little smile. “I like your lack of inhibition.”

“As much as I like your abundance of it, I suspect,” Hannibal said.  He arched up against the gentle pressure of Will’s fingers. “Please, Will?”

At Hannibal’s urging, Will pushed a finger inside him. Then bent forward and licked a slick half-circle around the quivering rim.

“Oil?” Will asked. “I want to open you up. The way you did me.”

“Oh,” Hannibal moaned. “In…in the side pocket of the leather bag at the foot of the bed.”

Will pulled out of Hannibal gently, leaned over the edge of the bed, and grabbed the bag. He took out the small bottle of rich pure olive oil and leaned it against his leg. Before he set the bag aside, he also pulled out the wide black ribbon Hannibal had stuffed in the bottom and set it next to him.

Will rubbed the bottle between his hands to warm it, then poured a generous measure of oil between Hannibal’s cheeks and over his hole. He rubbed it in gently but insistently. Will kissed the points of Hannibal’s pelvic bones and the base of his spine before pressing his finger back inside Hannibal’s body slowly.

“Oh,” Hannibal sighed. “Will.” He arched his back. “More,” he said. “I can take more than that. You don’t have to be so careful.” His accent was thick in his lust, giving his words an angular edge.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Will said, pushing another finger firmly into him anyway.

“Yes. Like that,” Hannibal sighed.

Will experimented with different angles, different pacing, trying for what Hannibal liked best. Hannibal moaned low and continuous in his throat, twisting under Will’s hands.

Will watched Hannibal’s desire manifest in his body and opened his mind to the memory of Hannibal preparing him, making love to him. Then he pressed his fingers in further, harder, searching for Hannibal’s prostate. He crooked his fingers in a steady come along motion when he found it until Hannibal’s voice broke in an almost wounded whimper.

“Good?” Will asked smugly.

“Good,” Hannibal sobbed. “Will. Please.”

Hannibal’s legs were tensed, toes curling. He thrust back against Will helplessly, rubbing his weeping cock against the soft pillow beneath his hips.  He was so close, just from this.

Hannibal’s desperate pleasure poured though Will’s mind and mixed with his own unexpected sense of power and tenderness. He wanted to reach under Hannibal with his free hand and bring him off, to watch him come apart, but he also wanted to draw this out as much as possible.

“Not yet,” Will whispered against Hannibal’s thigh. He slowed and pressed inside more gently then eased his fingers out entirely. Hannibal made a small sound of protest at the sudden emptiness.

“Will. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not done with you, Hannibal. I want you to hold on for me. Can you do that?”

Hannibal groaned and thought, you’ll be the death of me, you miserable boy.

“I think…yes…” he said shakily.

“Turn over then,” Will demanded, moving to kneel beside him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the smut, none of the plot!

Hannibal turned as Will directed, his whole body trembling sweetly.

Will pulled the pillow out from under Hannibal’s hips and tossed it.  He straddled Hannibal once again, resting on his heels. He took the wide black ribbon in his hands, pulling and twining it through his fingers.

“Will you let me blindfold you?”

“Afraid of what I’ll see when I look at you, Will? Or are you afraid of what you’ll see?”

Will shook his head. “Eyes are distracting,” he smiled. “See too much. Don’t see enough.”

“I knew I wanted you then, Will,” Hannibal sighed, recalling their very first meeting.  “Not like this. Not exactly. But, there was a deep resonance in me like a crystal glass shivering in sympathy with the strike of the tuning fork.” He reached up and set his hands on Will’s thighs, curving them around the lean muscle.

Will was cut to the quick by the thought of Hannibal wanting him and caring for him and yet betraying him again, and again, and again. His eyes went dark and he stroked the edge of the silk ribbon over Hannibal’s cheek with a shaking hand, briefly considered wrapping it around his throat and pulling it tight. In the end, he found that he still did not hate Hannibal enough for what he’d done to end him.

Hannibal saw Will’s face crumple in misery and started to ask, but before he could, Will shook his head and met Hannibal’s eyes calmly. Hannibal saw the sorrow drain out of him as quickly as it had come, replaced by a flood of greedy lust.

“I want you to feel,” Will said, brushing the ribbon over Hannibal’s cheek again. “Just to feel.”

Hannibal nodded finally and raised his head so that Will could wrap the ribbon around his eyes and secure it behind his head. While Will was bent over him working, Hannibal flicked his tongue out over one of his nipples. Then he braced his stomach and sat up far enough to bite down.

Will tossed his head back. “Fuck, Hannibal.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said with a smile. “What an excellent idea.”

Will cupped Hannibal’s head in his hands, supporting him. “Do that again.”

Hannibal obliged, licking over Will’s nipple and biting down hard. Will ground his hips down, pressing his body against Hannibal’s.

Hannibal stroked his hands from Will’s waist to his hips. “Is now a good time to ask you to take off those shorts, Will? Would you like me to beg to feel your bare skin against me?”

Will shook his head. “You save your begging, Hannibal,” he said. “You may need it.”

Hannibal felt Will’s weight shift and heard the rustle of fabric as Will pulled the shorts off and tossed them. Then he felt Will astride him once again, stroking his hands over his collarbone, his chest, his nipples. With his eyes covered, the feeling of Will’s questing hands on him was unbearably heightened.

Will was utterly entranced by his control over Hannibal and he felt a deep sense of satisfaction at every needy reaction he drew from him. He ran a hand through the thick hair on Hannibal’s chest again and again. Tangled his fingers in it. Pulled it and then let go to watch it spring back. He bent down to rub his cheek against it curiously. Teasing until Hannibal said it was enough, god enough, Will.

Will relented then and trailed his fingers down over the long, faded scars on the inside of Hannibal’s forearms instead. He stopped halfway down Hannibal’s left arm at the sight of the rectangular white bandage that marked the deep gash where Hannibal had opened the scar and drained his own blood to make _sanguinacco dolce_ just days earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. Will bent and placed a kiss above the bandage, feeling Hannibal’s life coursing like a river just under his mouth.

“Do you like them?” Hannibal asked, shifting up against Will’s body. “Your proxy scars?”

“Do you?” Will asked, pressing down against him, moving to kiss the intact mark on Hannibal’s right arm.

“I wish you had given them to me yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll reopen them for you and make them properly mine.”

Hannibal moaned at the thought. “Don’t tease.”

Will spread his legs further and dropped his hips, dragging his hard cock over Hannibal’s. “Oh? Should I stop teasing?”

“Will,” Hannibal breathed, reaching up for him blindly.

Will caught Hannibal’s strong, dexterous hands in his and pressed them to his chest. He placed the tips of Hannibal’s fingers to his nipples. It seemed easier to ask for things now, when he didn’t have to watch Hannibal watching him. “Hurt them,” he whispered, leaning his weight against Hannibal’s hands. Hannibal inhaled sharply and closed his fingers around Will’s nipples, pulling and twisting.

Will dropped his head back. “Oh that’s good. Perfect.” He rocked his hips down, rubbing his cock against Hannibal’s again. I could come like this, he thought. But…not yet. “Enough. Oh, that’s enough,” he hissed, pulling Hannibal’s hands away from his chest and sliding them down over his flat belly.

Hannibal could feel the soft line of hair on Will’s stomach crinkle under his fingers. He reached towards Will’s cock, but Will pressed his hands down further.

“Not yet. Leave your hands there. On my thighs.”

“You've hardly let me touch you at all tonight, Will.” Hannibal said. He licked his lips and traced the tips of his canines with his tongue. He closed his eyes in the dark behind the blindfold. “I imagine your cock is flushed dark and so heavy by now. It must be getting painful.”

Will’s cock spasmed against his belly at those words. The fluid at the tip left a slick smear on his skin. He palmed it once, then gripped the base tight until the aching pleasure backed off. “I can wait,” he said finally. “I'm pretty good at this. Waiting. Holding out until...”

“...until your partner is ruined?”

“That's the idea, yeah.”

Hannibal gripped Will’s thighs and swept his thumbs back and forth over the soft sensitive skin there.

Will laughed and leaned forward, cupping Hannibal face in his rough palms. He stroked his thumb over the edge of the blindfold where it lay against Hannibal’s cheek, kissed Hannibal’s mouth softly, licked over his lower lip.

“I’ve been so hard for so long I think I’ll come if you touch me at all. And I don’t want to come yet. Just… not yet. I want to hold on to this as long as I can. It’s so good.”

Will kissed Hannibal again, harder this time, claiming his mouth, feeling Hannibal yield to him. When he drew back, Hannibal followed blindly.

“Can you help me?” Will said against Hannibal’s cheek. “Can you hold on with me?”

Hannibal squeezed Will’s thighs then let go and rested his hands lightly at the join of thigh and hip.  “Yes,” he said panting. “I’ll hold on with you.” Yes, he would hold this excruciating liminal space for him, for them, as long as he could. He was deeply pleased to hear Will ask for what he wanted so freely. Was it the blindfold that had released him? 

Will leaned his forehead against Hannibal’s for a moment and then his mouth and hands were everywhere. He crushed his mouth to Hannibal’s, kissing him until their lips were bruised and swollen. He ran his hands over Hannibal’s chest, pinching one nipple hard between his fingers and leaning down to suck and bite the other.

Hannibal arched up for him, head thrown back, nearly overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation. Struggling to leave his hands where Will had put them. Struggling not to grab Will’s hips, roll them over, and bear Will down under his weight.

Will slid backwards out of Hannibal’s grasp, moving down his body. He covered Hannibal’s chest and belly and thighs with slick, wet, open-mouthed kisses. He pushed Hannibal’s legs back and open, knelt between them, and nosed along the crease at the top of Hannibal’s thigh as Hannibal had done to him. He inhaled the warm spice of Hannibal’s skin just below the fading scent of his soap. He pressed his lips to the thin skin there, listening with deep satisfaction as Hannibal sighed and lifted to meet his kiss.

Will bent to brush his mouth over Hannibal’s balls, drawn tight with need. He cupped them gently in his hand. He thought he should feel more uncertain. He had no skillset for this part. But he found that he had the memory of Hannibal’s skills in him now, the way Hannibal had worshipped him with his mouth. And he had every delightful thing his former lovers had ever done to him and his own desires to guide him. He would offer it all until Hannibal broke.

Hannibal put his hands over his face, pressing the silk ribbon to his closed eyes. “Is now a good time to beg, Will?”

Will laughed, his hot breath caressing Hannibal’s stiff sensitive flesh. “Yes, Hannibal. Now is a good time to beg.”

Hannibal groaned deep in his chest and thrust his hips up. “Please, Will. Please.” He brought his hands down and ran them gently through Will’s hair, blunt nails scratching along his scalp. “Please suck me.”

“Yes,” Will breathed. “And?”

 “And put your fingers inside me again.”

“You really are shameless,” Will said. He reached up with his left hand and slid his first two fingers into Hannibal’s waiting mouth. “Get them wet for me then.” As he watched Hannibal licking and sucking, he felt a spike of heat pierce his body from fingers to cock.

When his fingers were wet enough, Will pressed them back between Hannibal’s legs and pushed them inside hard. Hannibal lifted up to take them in.

Will kissed Hannibal’s thigh. “That’s good,” he praised him.

He thought about borrowed words and time. Then he said, “I’m going to suck your cock, Hannibal, as deep as I can manage. And I’m going to open you up with my fingers. And you’re going to come in my mouth. I want to feel that. Taste you like that.”

“Oh,” Hannibal moaned, writhing under Will’s hands. “And will you take me? After I come. Right after. While I’m still…”

“…shaking?”

“Yes. Will you come into me then?”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s so good that way.” Hannibal turned his head side to side, restless in the dark behind the blindfold.

Will smiled and slid his tongue experimentally over the wet, blushing curve of Hannibal’s swollen cock. He crooked his fingers, stroking inside.

“I wish I had seen you the first time you figured that out.” Will licked and sucked as he spoke, breath spilling hot over Hannibal’s wet skin. “You have this look. This little wide-eyed look you get when you’re delighted and surprised. It’s…sexy. You have good control over it now, but I bet you didn’t always.”

Hannibal put his hands over his face. Can you see me so clearly, he thought. “Will, I l…,” he began.

Will licked up the length of Hannibal’s shaft, tasting him, mapping his flesh with the flat of his tongue. “You what?” he whispered.

“I… Nothing. Nothing. Just, stop teasing.”

“I’m _learning_ you, Hannibal.” Will said smiling wickedly as he licked along the sensitive underside of Hannibal’s cock.

“Learn later,” Hannibal moaned. He reached down with one hand and carded his fingers gently though Will’s hair. “Please suck my cock, Will.”

“Do you need it?” Will teased. “Is it unbearable?

“Will, please.”

Will took mercy on him and slid Hannibal’s thick cock into his hot mouth a little at a time, licking and sucking experimentally as he did. Hannibal clenched the sheets to prevent himself from fisting his hands in Will’s hair, forcing himself not to thrust up into Will’s throat.

Will closed his eyes, letting the bitter taste, the heat of him, fill his mouth. He stroked inside Hannibal with his fingers and ran through a little repertoire of things he liked, things he thought Hannibal would like. He rubbed the flat of his tongue against the sensitive spot under the head of Hannibal’s cock and sucked hard with hollowed cheeks. He looked up at Hannibal from under his fluttering eyelashes with a kittenish borrowed expression before realizing with amusement that Hannibal couldn’t see it.

He pulled back for breath, leaving Hannibal’s cock shiny with spit and throbbing.

“You can… you can put your hands in my hair,” Will suggested, softening his voice. “Just…just don’t make me take too much all at once.” The coquettish little quiver he’d put into his words spilled deliberately false though a vicious, teasing smile that Hannibal could sense, but couldn’t see.

You offer me performative innocence? Hannibal thought with wonder. Then Will closed his mouth quickly around Hannibal’s cock again, angling his head to take him deeper, and Hannibal stopped thinking.

Hannibal moaned, “oh, oh, oh” over and over as he rocked his hips between Will’s mouth and his fingers. He reached down with shaking hands and brushed Will’s curls back from his forehead. He caressed Will’s stubbled cheek, stroked the tips of his fingers over the curves of his ears, cupped the back of his head gently.

Will hummed in pleasure. He crooked the fingers of his left hand firmly then put his right on Hannibal’s hip and made an encouraging gesture. Come on, he motioned. Give it to me. I want it. Let go.

Hannibal teetered on the edge a moment longer before breaking. He closed his hand hard in Will’s hair then, holding him still as he came in his mouth in a desperate soundless rush. Will swallowed around him as quickly as he could.

Will pulled off, coughing and licking his lips. He drew his fingers gently out of Hannibal’s convulsing body, and sat up.

Hannibal gripped his cock tight at the base to draw his orgasm out. He tilted his hips up and spread his legs wider. “Now, Will. Please.”

Will knelt between Hannibal’s thighs and pushed the head of his stiff, slick cock against his opening. There seemed to be no give at all though and he hesitated. “I don’t think you’re…wet enough. Let me get the…”

Hannibal thrust back against him. “No. It’s all right, Will,” he panted. “You can push harder than that. I want it.”

Will braced his thighs under Hannibal’s and put his hands on his hips. He pushed firmly against Hannibal’s spasming resistance. Hannibal turned his head away and groaned as Will forced him open.

“Am I hurting you?“ Will asked, panting and struggling not to push too deep too fast, struggling not to come immediately as Hannibal squeezed hot and tight all around him.

Hannibal tipped his head back against the pillow, the ebb tide of his orgasm sweeping warmly through his body as Will thrust into him. “Hurts. Yes. A little, but, oh Will, it’s so good.”

Will captured Hannibal’s mouth and kissed him sweetly, rocking steadily deeper as Hannibal’s body slowly relaxed and welcomed him. He kissed Hannibal’s cheek, bit and sucked a blue blossom into the base of his throat. He ran his fingers through Hannibal’s hair. He desperately wanted to come, to spill himself hot inside Hannibal, but he also wanted it to go on forever.

Will circled Hannibal’s thighs in his strong arms, bent forward and kissed one knee, then the other. He leaned in and softly kissed Hannibal’s forehead, then his mouth, feeling the pressure building slowly but inexorably at the base of his spine.

Hannibal reached out for him. “Come down here. I want to feel your body against mine.”

Will leaned down, sliding his hands up along Hannibal’s sides. He pressed his chest to Hannibal’s, slipping his hands under his back to cup his shoulder blades. He rested his head against Hannibal’s shoulder. “God, you feel so good, Hannibal. It’s so good. I can feel you everywhere.”

Hannibal held Will tight and draped one leg around his waist. “Take what you need, Will. I want to feel you come.”

Will held Hannibal to him and started thrusting harder.

“Yes. That’s it, Will,” Hannibal said, kissing his neck. “Good.”

Will circled his hips, pressing up and in. “Do you think you can come again for me?”

“Probably not,” Hannibal sighed, lifting to thrust shakily back against Will. “But I want this anyway. Don’t you want …?”

“Yes,” Will said. “God, yes.”

“Good.” Hannibal kissed Will’s cheek and whispered in his ear, “then fuck me.”

“Oh,” Will groaned and drove into Hannibal hard and relentless. Hannibal encouraged him with his body, with his hands, with his filthy praise. Hannibal told him he was good, that he was beautiful, his beautiful boy. He told Will how good his cock felt inside him, that Will was so thick, that he felt so full. Whispering, whispering, until Will’s mind was clouded with Hannibal’s words. Until there was no room for anything else.

The orgasm spread through Will’s body as a series of unbearable waves, not one peak but many, choking the breath out of him. He had a brief moment to think, will it always be like this? I don’t think I can take it if it’s always like this. Then his mind went starburst blank and his hips stuttered as he emptied himself inside Hannibal with an anguished groan.

He collapsed heavily on top of Hannibal, shaking with release. His muscles convulsing involuntarily. His skin felt white hot and so oversensitive he could barely stand it.  “I’m still… I’ve never… It’s never been like this,” Will panted. He sounded almost panicked.

“You were on the edge for a very long time, Will,” Hannibal soothed him, caressing his back, his quaking arms. He cradled Will’s hips between his strong thighs, kissing the long column of his throat. “It’s normal. What you feel. Let it wash over you. Through you.”

Hannibal held Will tight against him with jealous tenderness as Will shook and sighed with subsiding pleasure. Hannibal was making a place in his mind for this night. A monument to the feeling of Will inside his body. A painted record of the care Will had taken with him, the give of his generous mouth, the sweet sound of him in grateful pain as Hannibal bit him, the shift of his face from sorrow to hunger and back.

When he could move again, Will bent his knees under Hannibal’s thighs and pulled out of him gently. He sat up, feeling shaky and vulnerable. He kissed Hannibal’s forehead, brushed his hands through Hannibal’s damp hair and over the edges of the blindfold.

“I’m going to take this off, ok?”

“As you say, Will,” Hannibal agreed. He could see Will so clearly in his mind, he had almost forgotten the blindfold was there.

“Lift up a little.” Will untied the ribbon and pulled it off then he covered Hannibal’s eyes with one hand. “Give it a minute. Don’t open your eyes yet. You’ve been in the dark for a while.”

Hannibal kept his eyes closed as Will had directed, letting the dim hall light seep though Will’s fingers and under his eyelashes. He felt Will kiss his cheeks, the corners of his mouth.

Will took his hand away from Hannibal’s eyes and slid the backs of his fingers over Hannibal’s cheek. “You can open them now if you want,” he said.

Hannibal’s eyelashes fluttered open slowly. For a moment, Will was a midnight void outlined in gold sparklight. "Beautiful, Will," he breathed.

He pulled Will down into his arms again and Will carefully curved his sore, stitched shoulder under him and shifted around until his head was pillowed on Hannibal’s chest. He turned his face and kissed Hannibal’s flushed skin, rubbed his hand across Hannibal’s chest, tangled his fingers in the thick greying hair. Holding on as though he might fall away from the earth.

“I l…” Will started. Then he trailed off, lips pressed tight.

“It’s all right, Will,” Hannibal whispered. “It’s all right. Come, let’s sleep a little longer.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can speak and read a couple of languages. Russian isn't one of them. Neither is Italian. Also, I know almost nothing about gourmet cooking, navigation by sea, Italy, European train systems, Italian police, Venetian street layouts or really anything else in this story. Anything I got right was all Google. Anything I got wrong was all me. Thanks for reading, commenting, and kudos. I've never published anything like this before and your feedback means a ton.


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